Brick by brick step by step
by Imagining Impossibility
Summary: Yvonne is out of Hospital and moving in with Nick and her younger sister but her life can't just go back to normal straight away. Yvonne/ Nick with my OC, Isla and mentions of Zoe.
1. Trust

**I'm going to update this every Thursday evening and there should be around seven or eight parts to it. I'd advise reading my previous Nick/ Yvonne fic 'Connection' because it introduces Isla, my OC and may give you a better idea of what's going on because this is kind of a follow-up to that. This chapter is told from Yvonne's point of view.**

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing- anything you recognise belongs to the BBC

**This chapter is dedicated to Meggi and Dr Asfen who is going to be mentioned here- he was the man who operated on my to enable me to see colour.**

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I pull the suitcase through the door, into the small house. It's bare, empty and cold from lack of use and every noise is echoed, the sounds bouncing around the room, cannoning the original sound rather eerily. I sigh as I drop down the suitcase and that sigh is returned to me multiple times as I lean against the wall and push a hair that has detracted itself from my low ponytail out of my face. The door drifts shut and as I look around I realise how strange it feels to be out of the hospital, out of the confinement of that one bare room.

'Yvonne' I hear my younger sister's voice float into the room from outside. I open the door again and see her on the step with a bag far too large for someone so small in her hands.

'Isla' I say, removing the bag from her arms 'I told you to only take the small bags and leave the heavy ones to Nick'

'I know' she shrugged 'but he seems to be struggling' she says with a giggle and as I peer over her head I see Nick stumbling along with a bag not much larger than Isla's in his significantly larger hands and Isla is right, he seems to be struggling almost as much as her, despite her being thirty years younger and a few feet smaller. I laugh too and as Isla pushes passed me into the house I see Nick glaring at the amusement I'm finding in his lack of strength.

'Whatever happened to male dominance?' I tease, throwing the bag Isla had given me inside and reaching forward to take the bag from him in a way not dissimilar to how I treated Isla. He moves his hands in an odd gesture, evidently trying to explain himself but lacking the words to do so.

'It was heavy!' he protests, giving up on any legible, sensible argument and resorting to a childish remark 'and beside, I've been lugging bags about all day, can't I have a break?'

I smile at him, placing the bag on the floor on top of the already large pile of bags and boxes that has been mounting in the unloading process. 'Of course you can' I say as he takes my hand 'can't have you over-exerting yourself now, can we?'

He flicks me on the nose as he walks passed me in the entrance before bounding up the stairs with the energy of a ten-year-old.

'What happened to you being tired?' I ask teasingly.

'I recovered' he retorted 'and besides, the excitement of exploring a house is far more energising than transferring boxes and bags from the car to the house.'

'You did lock the car, right?' I say but before he has the time to answer I hear clattering footsteps and see Isla run down the upstairs corridor and straight into Nick, who promptly lifts her up, spinning her round.

'Careful!' I say warningly 'If you drop her down the stairs…' He gently places her down on the step below him.

'What was that about dropping her down the stairs?' he asks smugly, a twinkle in his eye and a massive grin plastered across her face.

'Honestly' I say as Isla turns around with a bounce, the same monkeyish grin pasted on her face 'you're like a pair of excited two year olds!'

'Yvonne, can I have the room at the back?' Isla asks, completely ignoring my comment and beginning to make her way down the stairs, bouncing on each step she reaches.

'Of course' I say, knowing she would ask for this room.

'Yay!' she cheers, rushing down the stairs, landing almost on top of the pile of boxes and bags 'which ones are mine?'

I shake my head 'not yet, missy, we've got the furniture van yet to come' I say, giving her hair an affectionate ruffle 'and besides, you can't carry half those boxes up on your own'

'Though I'd like to see you try.' Nick says in an almost daring tone.

'Don't encourage her' I say, shaking my head, trying to sound reproachful but knowingmy light tone betrays how amused I am by their childish behaviour.

'Well, I'd do better than Nick anyway!' Isla retorts, poking her tongue out at Nick who has begun to make his way down the stairs.

'I'm sure you would' I agree, looking slyly at Nick 'but you still can't try, you'll just have to wait'

Isla pouts for a moment but her happiness is soon restored when Nick reaches the bottom of the stairs, tapping her on the opposite shoulder to where he's standing, making her look the wrong way. 'Nick!' she exclaims and begins chasing him around the empty room. But the room no longer feels empty anymore and the house suddenly feels full of light and warmth, even though no heating or lights have been turned on. And it's all because of the presence of the people I love and trust most; the two people I know I'd do anything for and the only two people I'm sure would do anything for me.

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**Hope you enjoyed! Sorry it's such a short first chapter but like I said, the next chapter should be up next Thursday and should hopefully be longer. Thanks for reading and please review!**

**_-Checky x_**


	2. Neverending Nightmare

**Another short chapter and one I'm not so sure about- I've written about six different chapters for this chapter and none of them have quite nailed it for me but this seemed like the best one and I wanted to update on Thursdays as promised. I've been rather busy though so it was a little rushed and there may be mistakes; if you spot any please feel free to point them out- I'm rather conscious there's something I've missed. Anyway, thanks to Meggi and AmberFrenchChambers for reviewing the first chapter, HermioneLumos and Trudes193 for following and Sam2012Nicholls for reviewing all of my last story (don't think you're reading this one but ah well, I had to say thank you somewhere)**

**Disclaimer: **I unfortunately own absolutely nothing. Actually that's a lie, I own lots of things, such as the computer I'm typing this on, just not casualty or anything I've written you may recognise!

**This is for Meggi again (I'll reply to your PM after this! I've been busy!) This is from Nick's point of view and if anyone wants this in Spanish, please ask as I wrote it in Spanish first time round :P**

She has nightmares all the time; they both do. They're both frequently waking up in the middle of the night with unsteady breathing and quickened pulses, their skin whiter than its natural colour, which is pale anyway. The only difference in situations is that Isla tends to scream when she wakes up; alerting us to what's happening and the fact something is terrifying the vulnerable girl in the room next to us. Yvonne just lies there quietly, trying to calm herself and refusing to move. Yet I always know when she wakes; she doesn't need to make a sound because I can tell, I can feel her stiffen in my arms and begin to toss and turn when the nightmare starts and when she awakes, her muscles flop a little, going from tense to slightly more relaxed and almost floppy.

I often wish there was something I could do to make their nightmares stop; some sort of anecdote I could give them to prevent the thoughts that seem to terrify the women in my life, transform them to nervous wrecks. But it seems to me like their nightmares are never-ending, they started but they never stop. It seems to me that no matter what I do the nightmares will stay there, imprinted on their minds like scars, mental scars. As I stop to drop Isla off at her school I notice the way her shoulders are slightly higher than most children her age; her walk slightly stiffer and her moves just a little more static, as though she's always nervous. That may just be down to the fact it's a new school but I'm sure her behaviour is normal for her, I'm pretty sure she always looks like she's treading on mines or walking on a tightrope; worried she may step the wrong way or topple from her tightrope.

That's what it's like for Yvonne too, it seems to me both girls are fragile and could break at any moment; one wrong move could destroy their slowly building up confidence; shatter and destroy it, stamp it out. I glance at my watch and realise I've spent far too long in front of the school gates; I should be well on my way to work by now, not sat here thinking. As I start the car the purring of the engine becomes oddly comforting and the sound of the other cars passing on the dual carriageway seems to remind me just how many people there are in the world and just how few of them I know. For some this may be a daunting prospect but for me, it is an exciting concept, the thought that there are so many encounters I'm yet to have, so many people I can label 'strangers'.

A stranger. It's a peculiar word; it implies that everyone you don't know is strange, which is certainly not true, seeing as I'm sure I know or have met a fair few people far stranger than a majority of the population in this world. Stranger. The more I mull over the thought of how incorrect this word is, the more strongly I begin to feel about it and by the time I arrive at Holby, I have become immersed in the sea of thoughts within my mind, pouring words that are incorrect in, filling the sea up.

This is probably why it is with a reasonably large amount of force I park the car, slamming on the brakes; rather violently pushing the clutch back and it possibly has something to do with just how hard I slam the door to my car shut. No sooner have I walked through the door than I am greeted by various forms of friendly welcomes and I soon become surrounded by various colleagues. I am immediately bombarded with questions but I somehow manage to reflect them all and make my way upstairs, to my office. I gently push open the door to find Zoe, sat at my desk, her shoes off and paperwork that has no doubt been designated initially to me but passed on to her spread out across the room.

'Made yourself at home I see' I say lightly and Zoe, who has been studying a sheet of paper incredibly intensely looks up with a start. The look on her face, which when she first looks up appears bored soon transform when she sees me into a wide grin, her mouth somehow stretching from ear to ear and her evidently rather important sheet of paper discarded and dropped upon the large pile of paperwork, where it would seem rather a lot of important sheets have been left to lie and rot.

'Nick!' She exclaims, and immediately makes her way round her desk before pulling me into a friendly hug before pushing herself away from me, gripping my arms as though I'm a young child and she wants to see how much I've grown. 'How're you? How's Yvonne, it's been far too long, I haven't seen you for what, four months? And do you think I can stop being clinical lead today, seeing as your back' she pours out, a torrent of questions flooding from her mouth, disallowing me to even get passed answering the first question, let alone the stream that soon follows.

'Slow down' I laugh, before attempting to answer all her enquiries. 'I'm fine, Yvonne's fine and unless I'm corrected I've been reinstated with immediate effect so yes, I daresay you can go back to being chief consultant if you so wish' I glance around the office and various piles of forms and folders 'or you could always finish the paperwork, seeing as you looked so enthralled in it when I came in' she gives me a friendly glare, before pulling me into yet another hug.

'It's so good to see you again, Nick' she says 'it really is'

**Thanks for reading! Please review and if you like it enough to follow or favourite please do :D**

**_-Checky x_**


	3. Alone in a crowded room

**I've basically been slaving away trying desperately to climb a mountain of coursework so if this appears a little rushed and there are various mistakes, it's because I'm exhausted and this was extremely hurried! I just wanted to get it up on time. Thanks ever so much to all the reviewers and followers and especially to Meggi, you're brilliant as always, I shall reply to your PM ASAP. Don't I look cool there, two mnemonics in a row! Written from Isla's point of view.**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own much at all, only really Isla (and a box of Rice Krispies I won at a raffle yesterday) so no infringement intended! I also don't own 'Fools Girl' it's a book by Celia Rees.

**For Meggi and a little girl called Libby who became an angel four years ago today.**

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I keep my head down and slip into a seat in the back corner. I slide my backpack off my back and quietly remove my pencil case, notepad and Fools Girl, the book I'm currently reading. I place them on my desk and flick my dark fringe over my eyes, slouching a little in my seat so as to make myself as small as I can. I watch as various other children come in, greeting one another no doubt glad to be back with their friends after six weeks away.

But I have no-one to greet. And even as the classroom fills up and I realise almost thirty odd children have piled into the classroom, I find myself remaining alone on a desk meant to seat four children but currently only seating one. It hits me just how alone I am, despite being in a crowded room full of children my age. I watch as the teacher comes in, welcoming the children back and introducing herself. She then makes an announcement that causes my heart to stop for a minute.

'And you may not have realised but we have a new girl with us today' she says, a bright beaming verging on sickly smile upon her face, spreading from ear to ear. Everyone looks around, trying to locate the 'new girl'. Their eyes eventually rest on my and I feel myself turning red. I slouch a little more and try to cover my face even more with my fringe but everyone still stares at me. 'Would you like to come up to the front?' she asks only I know it's not a question, she's telling me to go to the front. Slowly, I push myself up out of my seat and thirty pairs of eyes seem to move with me. I tentatively begin to weave through the desks and I can feel the eyes of the class resting upon me, watching my every move as if scrutinizing who I am, trying to get a handle on me. I look up at the teacher and she gives me what I think is meant to be an encouraging grin but only makes me feel even more sick.

'Would you like to tell us all your name?' she says, pulling me up to her and spinning me around to face the class. Another statement disguised as a question I think to myself. Yet another instruction she dresses up as a friendly question. I give her a withering look and pull my arm out of her grasp, stepping away. She looks a little taken aback and for some reason this gives me confidence. I flick my fringe back out of my eyes and for the first time today allow myself to face forwards as opposed to keeping my eyes firmly on the ground.

'Isla Rippon' I say in response to her question and she nods with an apprehensive look on her face, evidently thrown by the fact I wasn't taken in by her sickly sweet act. I look out into the sea of faces and almost thirty faces look back at me, each almost as shocked as the teacher. And though I can't quite put my finger on why, this only adds to my rising confidence. 'What did you say your name was again Miss?' I ask, because I genuinely don't know her name; I wasn't listening when she told us.

'Mrs Haines' she says, almost snapping. She then recomposes herself, her sickly smile reiterating itself upon her face and her voice returning to it's initial patronizing tone. 'Now Isla, would you like to tell us all three things about yourself?' I sigh at yet another fake question, another order trying to sound like a choice, trying to make it seem like I have an option. She obviously spots my momentary lapse as I pause for thought about what exactly I should tell them. 'Something interesting' she says. My lack of response tells her I'm still stuck for what to say so she decides to tell me exactly what I should tell everyone. 'Do you have any brothers or sisters then?' she asks me.

I still don't respond. Do I tell them I have a sister who's over twenty years older than me? Or do I lie? Suddenly I feel a pang through my body as I remember something I'd tried to forget, something I'd attempted to blank out. I keel over in pain and fall to my knees, clutching my ears, shaking my head and sobbing, trying to block the world out. I feel an arm on my back but it feels like my dad's arm, the arm of the man who's hurt me more than anyone. 'Get off' I scream, kneeling up and whacking the hand away from my back. I slowly lean back, rocking on my knees, my sobs clogging up my throat and the tears pouring down my cheeks. I can't hear anything that's going on; all I can hear are screams and sobs, sounds of pain and horror, the sounds I used to have to endure hearing every night.

The screams go on for what feels like eternity but could in reality just be minutes. They only begin to quiet when I hear Yvonne's soothing voice and see her pale hands take mine; feel her wrap her arms around me protectively, shushing me and gently running her fingers through my hair. I clutch onto her, my sobs now calming into gentle cries and the words I've been trying to say are finally able come out.

'We need to go get Sylvie, we need to find her, we need to save her'

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**Sylvie is possibly named after the journalist in Inspector Morse Infernal Serpent… but who is she in my story? All will be revealed next Thursday! Please R&R and favourite or follow if you like it enough to do so! Thanks!**

**_-Checky x_**


	4. Potential breakdown

**I genuinely had no idea who Sylvie was at the end of the last chapter either, I just thought I'd put something random in and hope for the best :P Possibly not the best policy when writing a story but I'm not a great one at following policies (had you guessed?) Thanks to anyone who's read, reviewed, followed or even favourited so far, it's much appreciated and I hope you're all still enjoying it! I know I dedicate every chapter to Meggi but this one is, again, for Meggi and (she has to share again!) my third niece who was born two days ago but my brothers first child, Louisa Esme.**

**Disclaimer: **Per usual, if you recognise it and it's not Isla or Sylvie, I don't own it.

**I decided to bung two points of view together, hopefully you'll get where they change but it goes from Yvonne to Zoe briefly and back to Yvonne because Zoe is currently one of my favourite characters and she demanded to speak halfway through, if only for a few paragraphs! Oh, and this chapter is a bit longer than the others have been, which is good…**

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When I got the call from the school saying Isla was having what looked like a nervous breakdown my heart sunk and I'm sure if someone else had been there they'd have seen my face fall and know something was wrong. I felt tears prickle in my eyes and when I said 'Ok, I'm setting off now' I could've sworn my voice was trembling all over. As I put the phone down I sighed, leaning against the counter. I ran a hand through my dark hair and tilted my head backwards, trying to take in what I'd just heard, trying to digest the information that made me so worried. I thought she was getting better, I thought everything was going to be back to normal soon.

I couldn't have been more wrong. I immediately begin to wonder, was I missing obvious signs of this happening? Or was it discreet? Could the rest of the world see Isla's mental state declining and had I completely overlooked the fact that my sister, the girl I claimed to love was on the verge of breakdown, of panicking herself silly. I have to shake myself out of these thoughts but even as I seize the car keys from the side I can still hear the niggling thoughts, the questions that fly around in my mind chattering to me. They aren't shutting up but I have to push them away, I have to be strong. For Isla, for Nick, for myself.

I realise when I get to the school that I have no idea which classroom is Isla's and how I get to it, so I resort to finding the reception and asking for her class. I rack my brains, which currently seem to have been thrown into mayhem, trying to remember Isla's class name. '5H' I whisper to myself as it floods back to me 'she's in 5H' I see a sign directing me to 'reception' and follow it. It takes me to an automatic door entrance and as the doors slide apart I feel myself beginning to tremble already, a dry lump beginning to form in my throat.

'Hello, how may I help you?' a plump lady at the reception asks me, spinning round on her chair to come to the little window between her office and the foyer I'm currently stood in. I pause for a moment, trying to recompose myself but I can feel dizziness coming on. I shake my head and turn to the lady, who has an expectant bordering on encouraging look upon her face. 'Are you looking for a teacher, pupil, certain class?' she asks and I can see her getting peeved; I'm evidently trying her patience.

'Um, Isla Rippon' I say 'I'm looking for Isla Rippon, she's in 5H I think' the lady smiles at me, twirling on her chair to face her computer screen and begins to tap on the keyboard, the rings on her fingers tinkling together and the keys clacking away. I hear her mutter Isla's name under her breath and watch as she scrolls down a list of pupils, a list of the pupils who are, I'm assuming, is class 5H.

'Ah yes, Isla Lucy Rippon?' she says 'born' she begins but I don't let her finish her sentence, cutting her off before she has time to rattle off Isla's birth date in that posh, smug bordering on patronizing tone she's been using to address me.

'Yes, that's her' I answer 'what classroom is she in?' I ask, perhaps sounding pushy but I really couldn't care less, when Isla's potentially having a breakdown I think there are more vital things to think about than manners. And besides, I'm sure I come across as pushy to most people, no matter how often I try to explain it's purely because I care, perhaps overly so.

'Well, her classroom is just along that corridor' she points to a corridor in the direction of my left 'and to the right, then it's the classroom to the left, though you should be able to see because there's a sign up saying 'Welcome to class 5H' on the door. I am about to push through the door when I realise this door has to be activated. I turn to the lady, incredulous as to why she hasn't allowed me through and just as I am about to ask her why she doesn't unlock the door for me she says in a sickly sweet voice. 'I'm afraid I need a form of identification so I know who you are'

I role my eyes, annoyed that I am being made to take far longer than necessary just to enter the school. I rummage in my handbag and yank out my license, shoving it onto the table. She takes a look at it, as though trying to see if I really am the person in the image (though there's no real question about it) before nodding. 'Excellent' she says and I see her push the button, a buzz occurring simultaneously.

'Thank you, finally' I say, shoving the door open and rushing down the corridor. I see the sign but there doesn't need to be a sign for me to know which class she's in, I can hear her crying, sobbing, screaming. And I don't think those sounds will be leaving me any time soon.

: :

I've just finished clearing my stuff out of the office when Nick gets the call. I watch him answer it and find myself noticing the way his facial features change; how his brow furrows and his mouth slowly begins to droop, the corners gradually turning down. I see him shake his head and I can hear his answers, his voice slowly getting more frantic, asking questions like 'Is she OK?' and 'Where is she?'

I begin to feel panic mounting in the room, not just his panic but mine too and when he puts the phone down I find the first question tumbling from my mouth is 'is it Yvonne, is she injured?' he shakes his head definitely, and snatches up his brief case with one hand, his coat with the other. 'What is it, Nick?' I ask, knowing something must be very wrong for Nick to be like this. 'Please, tell me' I beg with him as he starts to rush out of the office. He stops at the door and turns back to me, looking me straight in the eyes, the look on his face pained.

'You're in charge Zoe' he says, his voice thick through tears 'I don't know how long I'll be gone for' he adds as he sees me open my mouth to ask him the question he answered himself. I can see the hurt in his eyes; the distress but before I have the chance to ask him again he's gone, hurried off. I lean back on the desk, picking up a bottle of water from beside me and taking a large gulp. I shake my head and find that, despite having just drunk my throat feels drier than ever. I push away from the desk and place a hand to the side of my head, trying to work out what just happened there, and what's happening elsewhere that's caused Nick so much panic.

And even though it's the first sign of madness I murmur to myself 'what on Earth has happened Nick?'

: :

'Isla, who's Sylvie' I ask, stroking her forehead, moving clumps of hair out of her face. She just shakes her head, sniffling and swallowing loudly. 'Isla, we can't save Sylvie if we don't know who she is or where she is' I say, trying to somehow coax an answer out of the small girl who lies in my arms. The prospect of Sylvie not being 'saved' is obviously one that distresses Isla greatly as when I imply Sylvie might not live, she instantly dissolves into helpless tears; sobbing into my chest, clinging onto me. 'Ssh, it's alright' I say, trying to somehow placate her. I decide not to ask any more questions until she's calmed a little and seems less vulnerable. At the moment, I fear anything I do or say could set her off, reignite the fear that's obviously been lurking in the back of her mind.

Her sobbing soon quietens and transforms into quiet crying. She looks up at me, her grey eyes large and round, still sparkling with tears. I can see little droplets of tears resting on her eyelashes and I notice her normally rather pale skin is blotchy and red, stained from the crying. Her eyes, aside from being wider than normal, have become red and bloodshot and her nose is running. I wipe a loose tear from the side of her cheek and she says to me. 'Sylvie's still with dad' she tells me, her voice sounding as though it's walking on a tightrope, trembling and uncertain. 'But he never hurt her' she shakes her head at me 'because he always had me to hurt instead'

I feel a haze of uncertainty pass over me. 'Isla, you know Dad's been arrested, don't you?' Isla looks up at me sharply, shock piercing through her eyes. She shakes her head. 'Isla, I told the police what he'd done to you, don't you remember that big interview you had when they asked you what he'd done?' I ask her and she swallows, her eyes becoming even wider. She slowly nods but I see the tears begin to bunch up in her eyes all over again and I can feel her fear flooding back as she begins to tremble from beginning to sob all over again.

'But if they took dad, I don't know where Sylvie is' Isla shakes her head, her grey eyes filled with fear and confusion, tears beginning to emerge. 'I don't know where she's gone.'

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**Yay! I now know what's going to happen in this story and it actually gets really rather sinister… Please read and review and please excuse the no doubt many mistakes.**

**-Checky x**


	5. Amazing Grace

**Hey people! (I feel cool saying that, please don't ask why) I haven't really got much to say which is odd for me because normally I can't shut up; I just waffle on and on. However, today, I have nothing to say other than please try and enjoy no matter how disappointed I am with this chapter!**

**Disclaimer: **Standard disclaimer applies… it's such a pain having to put this at the beginning of every chapter! I don't own Yvonne or Nick and I don't own the song either- it belongs to John Newton.

**It changes person and point of view halfway through but the start of it is narrated by Nick. I may actually update this before next Thursday as I haven't been in school, though my internet is a little erratic (blaming the flooding!) so it could be hard to upload. I'll try and update sometime soon, definitely by next Thursday but maybe before.**

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By the time I've arrived at the school it becomes clear to me that Isla has calmed down a significant amount since the initial phone call message reached my ear. I enter the class room to find it empty, with just Isla cradled in Yvonne's arms in the middle of the room, alone. I pad softly over to them, wondering what sparked this terrified reaction; what lead to this sudden outlet of emotion. I can hear Yvonne softly speaking to Isla in a soothing voice and, between sobs, it sounds as though Isla is explaining something to her. I can only hear the odd word but, from what I can hear I pick up that there's a 'she' involved and I get the distinct feeling Yvonne and Isla's father has something to do with the whole situation from the occasional murmur of 'dad' reaching my ears. I don't dare interrupt for fear of reigniting the distress that can't have been absent for long so I slip into a small plastic chair as quietly as I can, pulling off and placing down my gloves.

Suddenly Yvonne pushes herself away from Isla, removing her phone from her pocket. She pulls her phone from her pocket and hurries from the room; this phone call obviously being of some importance and I watch as Isla begins to crumple and dissolve into tears all over again, the small figure crouched on the ground suddenly shrinking. I push myself out from by the chair, rushing over to her, determined to be there for the vulnerable child that sits before me. I stroke her forehead, trying to prevent her tears and erase the fear in her mind. I can feel her shaking with tears in her eyes and as I rub her back it strikes me just how thin she is; how you can feel every detail of her spine and how easily she fits into my arms.

I'm not sure why, but I decide to scoop her up into my arms, her head resting on my shoulder and my arm holding up her wiry figure. She immediately begins to play with the short wisps of hair on my head, twirling them round in her fingers, holding the thin grey strands between finger and thumb and gently tugging at them. She has her thumb in her mouth and I turn my head to see her face red and blotchy, tear-stained and a haunted look upon her face, dark grey bags scooping under her eyes and bloodshot lines in the white of her eyeball. Her hair is clinging to the side of her head and the neat ponytail Yvonne did for her this morning is now loose and messy, hanging limply down her back.

I turn the other way to look out of the window, where I can see Yvonne pacing up and down, obviously heatedly discussing a touchy topic with the unlucky person on the other end of the line. 'Sing to me' I hear Isla's voice float from my shoulder and instantly look at her.

'Sing to you?' I ask, as though trying to clarify the statement I just heard slip from her lips. She nods, giving me the confirmation I requested so I ask her 'what shall I sing?' beginning to panic because I know few songs off by heart and even fewer I can actually sing half-decently. She cups her hand round her mouth and leans into my ear, speaking in a whisper as though it's a secret.

'Amazing Grace' she hisses to me and I look her in the eyes, again asking for some sort of validation that backs up her statement. She gives me a faint, weak smile accompanied by a slow yet definite nod. 'Will you sing me Amazing Grace?' she asks this time speaking.

So I do. I open my mouth and, trembling, the words begin to tumble from my mouth 'Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me. I once was lost but now am found, I was blind but now I see.' I sing to her, continuing to rub her back as I do so and slowly beginning to sway in time with the song, jigging her a little in my arms. She joins in with me for the second verse and as singing comes much easier to her and she strains far less on the high notes I soon drifted her and allowed her to sing alone until the final verse, excluding the repetition of the first verse that ends the song, by which point Isla's confidence was invigorated and I felt I was obliged to join in.

'When we've been here ten thousand years bright shining as the sun. We've no less days to sing God's praise than when we first begun.' We sing together and I realise when we begin repeat the first verse the Yvonne has come back into the first verse. Normally, when I'm singing, I'd stop at the point when someone else came in but at this moment in time I don't feel embarrassed in the slightest, I'm comfortable with Yvonne; and with Isla. So comfortable, I feel there's no way I can make a fool of myself with them. As the song draws to a close, Isla slides from my arms and turns to Yvonne expectantly, who I see has tears in her eyes. Yvonne nods.

'They've found Sylvie' she says. This sentence means absolutely nothing to me but I can tell by the reaction that it's something vital to Isla's recovery, a piece of information that can slot perfectly into the jigsaw puzzle that is Isla.

: :

You can feel yourself shivering; your teeth are chattering and beneath the thin layer of cotton acting as gloves it feels as though your hands are slowly freezing up, turning to ice. Maybe when they become ice, they'll melt when it's daytime because you'll be warm again. Or maybe they'll just stay ice-cold. Ice-cold like you. Like your heart. You blow your hands and rub them together, stamping your feet. It might already be morning for all you know, it just feels far too cold to be daytime. You look around you at the decomposing bodies that lay to either side of you, infested with bugs and nibbled at by rats. You're lucky you haven't been bitten yet but the rats seem to like you.

I suppose that seems right; the fact that the only creatures who like you are rats. Your tummy feels familiarly empty, the hunger that seems to permanently lie there giving you the stomach pains you find yourself feeling pretty much all the time, even after you've been fed. You kneel forward and begin to crawl along the cellar floor, careful not to fall and avoiding contact with any of the surrounding rotting corpses. You creep across the room to the stairs and begin to climb up them, getting to the door at the top. You place your eye to the small hole in the door and peep through it. This is small snapshot of the world is just about the only thing that keeps you sane; the only thing left to keep you believing that out there somewhere there is real life and that there is a world above the cellar; away from the dead bodies. You can see two bikes and a radiator, and out of the corner of your eye the back of a sofa is just about visible.

You hear footsteps and instantly spring back, almost tumbling down the stairs but just managing to keep your balance. You slide down the steps and curl up on the floor at the bottom, determined to look asleep and as though you've been sleeping all along, trying to avoid the accusations that could fly if you look like you're near the top of the steps. You remember the last time she caught you at the top of the stairs and you'd rather not be reminded or have to re-live such a memory. The door flies open and your eyelids flicker shut again. You try to keep still, try not to breathe.

'Here's your food' she says and you slowly shift into sitting position, looking up the stairs to where her tall, slim figure looms. You can see her silhouette and you watch as she begins to make her way down the steps, the sound of her heels clopping against the stone floor of the steps ringing through the cellar, the sounds bouncing off the cold stone walls and echoing around the room. She wrinkles her nose in disgust of the smell; the smell you have to endure all day, every day. And every night. The places the food down on the floor beside you and picks up the plate of yesterday's food. You scoot across the floor on your knees and, under her watchful eyes, remove the small bowl upon the plate that has about a handful of stale cornflakes in it. 'Enjoy' she says, a smug smile on her face as she turns to walk back up the stairs.

And you will, you know you will. Stale cereal and bread, a bruised apple, a slice of ham and an out-of-date yoghurt pot may not sound great to most people but for you it's a banquet, it's the food you have every day, the only food you have every day and the litre bottle of water that came down with it is the only water you have each day. Just like the bucket in the corner is where you go to the loo, the blanket and pillow in the other corner is where you sleep and the spare t-shirt, socks and pants lying upon the pillow are you spare clothes. Everything's on limits, even light but that's what you're stuck with. I guess you just picked the wrong cards when choosing which hand to have in life.

The sound of heels begins ringing again but before the twelfth and final tap has the chance to ring you hear a bang and a shout, a male voice yelling 'open up, police' you hear her drop the plate and watch as it bounces down the stairs, shattering into pieces on its way down. You leap out of the way, trying at all costs to avoid being hit by a piece of glass, something you manage to do but it isn't the plate you need worry about avoiding, it's the woman at the top of the stairs who's now come hurtling down, grabbing you by a fistful of hair and pulling you up, almost yanking a handful of hair from your scalp.

'What did you tell them?' she asks through gritted teeth and I can hear the police shouting and more bangs. 'How did you tell them?' she shakes me as she asks a second question, putting her head right in front of my face, spitting in my eyes.

'I didn't' I say truthfully, stuttering and stammering my words. 'I promise, I can't get out' she plainly doesn't believe me and isn't afraid to show this belief, flinging me halfway across the cellar, making my land upon one of the corpses and bang my head on the floor.

'You liar' she scream, seizing the pieces of the plate. 'You lying little scum' she yells as a bang much louder than its predecessors occurs and it dawns on you that the police are now in the house. Maybe now you'll be safe; out of this place, away from the bodies and corpses and bugs and rats, away from her and stale bread. You shrink back, simply trying to hold on until the police work out where she is. You suddenly feel a sickening pain in your stomach, followed by another, not the dull ache you have anyway but a feeling like something's been shoved into your gut. You look down and there, in your abdomen, lie two fragments of plate surrounded by splatters and pools of blood; your blue t-shirt now blood red. You can hear the police but before you know it sounds become muffled, as does your vision and you drift into a peaceful sleep.

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**Disaster strikes! I guess you all know who the second narrator was but I didn't and still don't want to officially tell you, event hough it's obvious :P Adds to the exciting element of mystery! Hope you all enjoyed, please feel free to review, they really do make me smile- big thanks to Amber French Chambers and, of course, Meggi (RacingRosso) for their lovely reviews on every chapter, it really is appreciated. **

**-Checky x**


	6. In Control

**Hey, firstly I'd like to say I'm so sorry about this being over a week late but I was going to post it last week then we lost all internet connection for days and this week the internet has been on and off so I haven't really been able to post it until now. Anyway, I've just realised how disorganised my document manager is- I name my files random things generally just whatever I could bash out of the keyboard at the time! The last chapter was 'Noine' and the previous one 'eOfjwei' so I sensibly named this one and felt very proud of myself! This chapter is in Yvonne's perspective and you may be confused to start with but just go with it :P**

**Disclaimer: **I forgot to fill in the paperwork that means Yvonne and Nick belong to me. The **BBC** beat me to it!

* * *

I can't go in there. I just can't bring myself to push open the door and step back into that place; the place where I lay for months on end and the place in which Sylvie now lies, though at least she's conscious. I'll look through the window but I won't go in, it brings back too many painful memories, sparks too many feelings I don't want to relive. I can see Isla in there, her pale hand resting on Sylvie's and the way in which the smaller girl lying in the bed looks at Sylvie makes me realise how close the two of them are; despite their lack of any genuine relation between the two.

'Yvonne.'

I turn to see Nick, clutching two cups of coffee, the one in his left hand thrust out towards me, accompanied by two sachets of sugar resting on the lid. I can't help but give a small smile at the gesture, the fact that he still hasn't got to grasps with just how much sugar I have in my coffee, not matter how many times I tell him. 'Thanks' I say, accepting the drink as Nick seats himself beside me. I tear open the sachets and remove the lid before sprinkling the small white grains over the dark brown liquid. He takes a sip, then I hear a quiet bump that tells me his cup has been placed down on the surface next to him. I copy this action, placing my cup to the surface nearest to me; a small table to my left not dissimilar to the small table to the left of Nick that now sports his coffee. I feel his hand weave into mine, the way each finger slowly entwines itself with each of my fingers like a jigsaw puzzle, a pattern.

'So who is she?' he asks and even though he keeps the tone of his voice reasonably balanced I can tell he's just dying to know what's going on.

'She's Isla's, well, our stepsister' I say and I can hear him take a breath, getting ready to comment but before he can get the words out I cut him off. 'She's seven' I say 'so about two years younger than Isla and her mother is the lovely lady who threw a plate at her. It turns out her mother and our father are, between them, responsible for killing almost twenty homeless people in what they say was an attempt to 'clean up the streets'. Before you ask why Isla left, apparently they never hurt Sylvie, only Isla so she thought that fi she went everything would be fixed and Sylvie could lead a normal life.'

I turn to look Nick in the eyes. 'None of this was Isla's fault' I say, shaking my head 'she and Sylvie were completely innocent' I sob, leaning my head into his shoulder. 'But I should have looked after her; I should have gone back'

'No' I hear Nick say and his grip tightens on my hand as his other arm wraps around me protectively, clutching to my shoulder. 'There are only two people to blame for this, your dad and Sylvie's mum. It's because of them, no-one else' he says and he pulls his hand out of my grip, using it to tilt my chin up to look at him. I find myself lost in his eyes, in the emotion they hold. 'Please believe me' he whispers 'please' he begs, almost pleading with me, willing me to trust him.

I hesitate, trying to take in what he's said, trying to believe him; desperately willing myself to agree with his statement.

But I can't. Because I don't believe him. I just can't accept what he says.

I drop his gaze, shaking my head and say in a hoarse whisper. 'I don't believe you.' And as I say it I'm sure I can hear, his heart break, feel it shatter but there's no way I can lie, no way I can convince him or anyone else that I believe what he just told me. I shrug his arm from my shoulder and lean into the surface my coffee is place upon. I feel tears begin to fall and I look through the glass again, at Isla and Sylvie. Isla has got out 'The Magic Faraway Tree' and I can see Sylvie smiling and laughing at Isla, who is evidently going over the top with actions and voices.

Nick's hand tentatively reaches out and awkwardly places itself on my shoulder. 'If everything is your fault' he says 'then you've done an excellent job.' I turn to look at him, completely thrown by this remark.

'What?' I ask, my voice perhaps sounding a little indignant and no doubt the facial expression I'm wearing matches this indignation but I suppose it matches how I feel, despite the lack of accusation in his remark.

'You've cared for Isla to make her strong and you've changed Sylvie's life forever' He says and I can see tears in clot up his vision, tears that begin to well in my own eyes. He sees the doubt begin to fade inside me, sees it begin to ebb away, I know he does, and he begins to expand on his initial statement. 'They're always going to be insecure' he says 'there's no way anyone can go through what they've been through and everything be normal' I swallow and for the first time, I begin to wonder if maybe, just maybe, he's right. Just for once, I think he's got the situation all figured out and I think he might know how I feel better than I do.

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**That's the kind of end but I've written at least sixty happy epilogues (I couldn't resist) so you're going to get a load of epilogues all compiled into an 'Epilogue' chapter that should be put up later today or tomorrow. Thanks to Amber French Chambers for all her lovely reviews and extra special thanks to Meggi for reviews and the mad PM chats we have that always make me smile! Virtual hugs coming your way! (if they don't get there blame my bad internet and the pathetic Christmas postal service)**

**-Checky x**


	7. Something Good

**I kind of stole the odd line from 'Something good' in the Sound of Music during this chapter and the title is also stolen from that song… Aha, I bet you can all tell my strange music taste now- in this fic alone I've used Amazing Grace and Something Good. Don't I sound like a normal teenage girl?**

**_Epilogue_**

The two girls who play on the grass before me two years later are barely recognisable. Isla has the same long, straight, jet black hair and she's still pale and thin but she's had life injected into her, happy life. Sylvie's equally straight light brown hair and green eyes are almost identical to as they were before but she too seems far more comfortable; more at ease with everyone and the two of them can play without worrying, without thinking of the dangerous consequences or wondering who's going to hurt them next. They don't have to wonder if what they're doing is going to get them into trouble because I suppose they're a little spoilt; they know they won't get told off, let alone hurt, if it turns out they're not meant to be doing whatever they're doing.

I watch as the kite they're trying and failing to get off the ground is abandoned when Nick emerges with a plate of sandwiches and tray of lemonade. And when he places it down on the table the two dash over, each grabbing a sandwich and beginning to squabble over who gets the first glass of lemonade and who's pouring.

'What do you say to Nick, girls?' I ask them, determined to instil some level of manners into the situation.

'Thanks Nick' the two girls say in unison, Sylvie with her mouth full of Jam sandwich and Isla with her glass in front of her mouth, poised and ready to tip the liquid down her throat. I smile as they do so before turning to Nick, placing a light kiss upon his lips.

'Where's Leon?' I ask him and he smiles at me.

'Asleep in that strange car seat cot thing with a handle.' Nick answers and I snigger.

'It's called a baby seat' I say 'but your name makes just as much sense' I add, indulging him with the knowledge that I like his name for the baby seat. Nick smiles before turning to Isla and Sylvie.

'Right, where's this kite then?' he asks and the two put down their sandwiches and drinks before leading him over to the site of the discarded kite.

'It just won't fly' Sylvie says, pouting 'We've tried everything!' she stresses the everything, trying to make the situation sound as dramatic as possible.

'we'll see about that' Nick smiles, winking. 'Now, Isla, run over there with the kite and Sylvie you put your hands here.' He begins to reposition them and it isn't long until the kite is soaring in the air. I watch the thrill they all seem to get from seeing the kite soar through the air and as I reluctantly slope off to begin the washing up and check on Leon I hear cries of disappointment and have to take a guess that the kite has just plummeted to the ground.

I make my way through to the kitchen, dumping the trays on the side and mentally making a note to wash them up along with the other dirty pieces of cutlery and plates in rapidly growing pile before walking over to the baby seat where Leon lies and picking the sleeping child up. I wait for the cry with baited breath but nothing comes; he stays quiet for once and as I cradle him peacefully in my eyes I wonder how on earth someone as perfect as him came from a mother like me. I walk over to the window, gazing at the scene that for some reason paints such a smile on my face and quietly rock Leon who I now gurgling quietly in his sleep. He really resembles Isla; they both have the same dark hair and pale skin, the same gently upturned nose.

I live with two young girls who have grown into two of the loveliest children you'll ever meet; a partner who'd do anything for anyone and a baby who could grow into any of us. And all I can think now is that I must have done something good to deserve all that.

'Do you believe me now?' he asks that night, expecting the customary answer of maybe.

But this time he doesn't get a maybe. Instead he gets a definite yes.

'Yes' I say 'you were right' I admit, happily conceding to him.

'I know' he smirks 'I'm always right'

I hit him lightly on the chest 'except for when it comes to putting the right amount of sugar in my coffee' I joke.

'It just feels wrong putting _that much _sugar in one cup of coffee' he protests 'how you still have all your teeth I don't know but I just can't bring myself to use all those sachets of sugar.' I giggle at him, at the way he reacts whenever I mention the sugar-in-the-coffee that somehow sparks so many little debates between us.

'But at least I believe you now' I add, a smile automatically gracing my face.

'Good' he says, turning over and switching off the lights 'because it's taken you two years to admit I'm actually right for once; I'm just hoping this is the first occasion of many.'

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**That was various scenes from various initial epilogues I wrote mashed together. To anyone who's read this, thank you so much and Meggi, I'll reply to your PM on time one day! Just not today because I'm absolutely exhausted… I'm not even sure how my fingers are functioning to type this! Again, thanks to anyone who's bothered to read it and please leave a review to tell me what you think; reviews really make my day.**

**-Checky x**


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